Hey, sorry it took so long. I had some schoolwork to complete. For those of you who have been wondering this story will eventually be Huddy, but not for a while. But I promise it will happen. As always please comment =)

Words could not describe how much clinic duty pissed Sarah off. She couldn’t imagine how it was possible to gather so many idiots in the same place yet everyday it happened. Just one intelligent or non-annoying clinic patient would be a freaking miracle. Oh well, it was over with for today. Maybe she would get a case. She had just finished her last three this morning. Normally it didn’t take too long for Cuddy to find her another couple. If Cuddy didn’t have any cases for her she would work on her research until her psychiatry patient came in at 11a.m. She withdrew the key to her office and unlocked the door.
“Since you obviously don’t have any cases for me, why are you here,” Sarah asked a case-less Cuddy, “I already forgave you.”
“Could I borrow your lab,” Cuddy asked keeping her head down.
She was sitting Indian-style on one of Sarah’s couches worrying the hem of her right pant-leg.
“For,” Sarah asked looking confused.
“A blood test.”
“What kind of blood test?”
“Can I or not?”
“I could run it for you.”
“I can run it myself.”
“If you insist. Just wash any equipment you use and leave it on a paper towel.”
“I could put it away.”
“You won’t put it back in the correct order. What is going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Whatever.”
“Look, I’m sorry to keep shutting you out, really, I am, but it’s for your own good.”
With that Cuddy entered Sarah’s lab and closed the door behind her, the vile of the blood in the box secured in her back pocket. She hoped it was not human blood. That would be even mais sickening.
It ends when you die
So why didn’t he just kill her if that was his ultimate objective? Because it was a game, a game to see how much she could take before she snapped. How did she end up involved in this? God, I’m an idiot, Cuddy thought angrily as she withdrew a pipette from one of Sarah’s drawers. She took the blood sample out of her back pocket and sat down. Then she divided it into five separate samples. The first test she would run was a PCR to determine whether or not the blood was human. To her dismay it was. God, what if the bastard had killed someone just to torture her? It would be her fault. Their blood would be on her hands. Her breath caught in her throat and the all to familiar choking sensation signified the beginning of an anxiety attack. For a few segundos she sat there breathing deeply trying to calm herself down enough to do what was necessary. If someone had been killed for this her plan of action was clear, although not one she was sure she was willing to take. She poured the other four parts of the sample into a small tray with eight spherical indentations. Then she added four reagents to test blood type. B- …an extremely rare blood type. A horrifying thought prickled at her consciousness. What if…but how? Mechanically, she withdrew a syringe and surgical tubing. About fifteen minutos the PCR machine beeped. The results were in, Cuddys’ eyes remained tightly closed. You ran the test for a reason, she argued with herself, just look at the damn results. Hesitantly she opened her eyes and looked at the screen. It was a match. The blood in the box was her blood. She closed her eyes and sank back into the chair. She had to do something, but what could she do? Normally she was good at thinking of ways out of difficult situations, that was why she was still alive, but this whole situation was screwing her up. Without her caffeine pills and caffeinated coffee the sleep deprivation was clouding her mind and weighing her down. Without her sleeping pills she wasn’t even able to get the three to four hours a night she had been living on. It was too distressing to think of the situation she was in so she preferred to ignore it, put it off until another dia and hope it went away. There was one aspect of the issue she could not ignore, however, and that was her child. She needed to get it as far away from her as possible. She stood up and walked out of Sarahs’ lab. There was one mais thing she needed to do.
“Sarah,” she said.
“Cuddy,” Sarah replied not looking away from her dry-erase board, “Did you find the results you were looking for?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Of course. Did you get my e-mail about your Anafranil?”
”No.”
“You can not take it for the seguinte nine months unless it’s absolutely necessary, which I think it is.”
“What will happen if I keep taking it?”
“You’re kid might detox after it’s born.”
“Who the hell is going to adopt a drug addicted baby?”
“Drug-addicts?”
“Wow, you’re hilarious. The thing could die from withdrawal.”
“Unlikely, but yes. Nice use of the word thing. Take your damn drugs. I would tell you to go off it if you only had your OCD to worry about, but there are other issues to consider. You’re barely functioning on the highest dose.”
“My choices currently are to suffer for seven months or at least eighteen years. I’ll take the seven months,” Cuddy replied setting three bottles of pills on Sarah’s desk.